He waited for Carroll to laugh, to stare at him in astonishment, to ask the immediate, obvious, bewildered questions: What gunboat? Who’s capturing Johnson’s Island? God in heaven, man, what are you on about?
But Carroll’s astonishment was of a very different kind. Even in the lamplight his pallor was remarkable, and his response was far too controlled and far too late: “I have no idea what you mean, sir.”
So. Not a phantom at all, then.
“Of course you do. I know you’ve been meeting with Jack, and with George Kane. You brought in the dumbbells they want for cannon shot—at least I hope it’s what they want them for. And don’t look so panicked, for God’s sake, we’re on the same side. I’m just tired of standing by and watching, that’s all.” He waited for a breath and went on: “I swear it, Carroll, I’ll never let on we ever spoke of this. And I’ll get you that deal with Al MacNab, too.”
Carroll got up and prodded distractedly at the fire. He spoke while still on one knee, with his back to his guest.
“Was it himself that said I bought him dumbbells, then?”
Erryn hesitated. No answer to this question was safe.
“He didn’t mean to. He made a slip, that was all. But I’ve been buying arms for him too, so I just put two and two together.”
Carroll walked back to his chair. He did not immediately sit. He stared down at Erryn Shaw as if he could not comprehend how their evening of camaraderie had come to this.
“I mean no unkindness, Mr. Shaw, but when a matter’s told a man in confidence, he ought to be keeping his word. It isn’t right, now, you asking me to break it.”
“You’re not breaking your word. You’re sounding out a new recruit. How the devil do you suppose the others got to be part of this? Somebody told Jack Follett, didn’t they? Somebody told you. Bloody hell, man, if nobody ever told anybody, there’d still be but twenty-two of them, sitting in Halifax twiddling their thumbs!”
Carroll sat heavily. He had had far too much to drink to untangle the web in which he found himself, much less to set one himself. Worse, he appeared to suspect nothing hostile. He was surprised, bewildered, perhaps even a little angry, but he did not imagine he was in the presence of an enemy.
“Sure, and what else is drifting around in the streets, then, that I don’t know about?”
“Easy, mate,” Erryn said. “It’s not in the streets. But there’s a few lads around Jack who … Hell, you know how it is. Between friends, things get said. Maybe they shouldn’t, but they do. And there’s no harm done. In fact I’m glad, because I’ve been hoping for some action, and this might be just the thing.”
“Then it’s Jack you should be asking, not myself.”
“He’s my friend. How the deuce can I tell him I don’t always trust his judgment? Could you do that to a man like Jack?”
“No. I don’t suppose I could.” Carroll poured more Madeira and drank his portion at one go. “It sounds to me like you know most of it already.”
Erryn laughed softly. “Enough to have a damnable itch, my friend, but not enough to scratch it.”
Carroll did not smile. In truth, he looked miserably unhappy.
“For God’s sake, Carroll, I want to help. And surely they can use another man.”
“You’ll swear it on your mother’s grave, then? You’ll not let on we spoke of it—not to Jack nor to anyone?”
“Never. And least of all to Jack. You have my word.”
“Well, I can tell you this much. You won’t regret it if you go along. The lads in charge are navy men—they know what they’re about. And the Yankees won’t suspect a thing. Our boys are going down as labourers, off to the waterworks in Chicago. They had it all planned out weeks ago, to get on a passenger steamer somewhere quiet, maybe off the canal, and take it over once ’twas in the middle of the lake—out of Canadian waters, you see. But the Yankee boats don’t stop on our side, except once in a while, and they couldn’t count on it. So they were all at sixes and sevens what to do. ’Twas myself recalled the screw steamers running back and forth to Ogdensburg, bringing corn and provisions from the West, and going back half empty most of the time. A deckload of passengers would just be money in their pockets. And who’s to give it a second thought—a band of young men off to new jobs, now that the harvest here is over and so many in the States gone off to war? All the lads were needing was a man to go to Ogdensburg to buy the tickets and arrange for them all to be picked up.”
“Why, that’s brilliant,” Erryn said. “Now I’m more tempted than ever. Still, a group of young men off to find jobs can’t be travelling armed for war, surely?”
“There’s a passenger will be bringing on some trunks. Alone, of course—no connection whatever between him and the lads. They’ll have everything they need, even knives for close work if it comes to that.”
“My knives, I wager,” Erryn said cheerfully. “I bought the best I could find. But damned if I want to wave one at a cannon. Please. Tell me we’ll have a little nine-pounder at least?”
“Aye, that you will.”
“Thank God. Otherwise …” He raised both hands. “Otherwise, I fear it would be another of those glorious expeditions they write sad songs about. ‘Alas for the boys who sailed to Johnson’s Island,’ and so forth.” He paused, just for a breath. “It is the island we’ll be after, isn’t it? The gunboat first, of course, and then the prison?”
Carroll was already compromised beyond any possible salvation, but still he hesitated. Somewhere outside, a dog barked, five or six times.
“You’ll not be forgetting your promise, Erryn Shaw?”
“I will not.”
“Aye, it’s the prison they’re after.”
“As I thought. Once they’ve taken the Michigan, and the prison is under her guns, the Yankees will have no choice except surrender. And we’ll have the steamer and the gunboat both to fetch the prisoners away.”
“Jesus, no. The harbour boats will serve for that. The Michigan’s a warship. The lads’ll take her raiding, and there’s nothing on the Lakes that can stop her. She’ll be worth a small army, she will.”
It was Erryn’s turn to be silent. A Confederate raider, armed and unopposed, loose on the lake, with all of Erie’s shipping as her prey, and every harbour town from Sandusky to Buffalo in the path of her guns? The expedition launched from Canadian territory, armed with Canadian assistance, planned in part by Canadian agents …? God almighty. He doubted that any political leader, any diplomat in the world, could resolve such a crisis short of war. And war would be the end of them—all of them, their little ribbon of colonies crushed between two empires, precious to neither, sacrificed by both.
And you, Daniel Carroll, what have you learned from your ballads of poor battered Ireland, except how to sing?
“That is extraordinary,” he said at last. “With good men, and a bit of luck … I dare say it’s just about flawless.”
“It is, isn’t it? I don’t mind if I say so myself.” Carroll smiled. Some of the tension seemed to be leaving him. He refilled their glasses. “So. A wee drink to your grand adventure, Mr. Shaw.”
“Why, thank you.”
Erryn sipped his Madeira briefly without tasting it. He had learned enough, he thought, to protect the country’s peace. The trick now would be to protect himself. He placed the glass quietly back on the table.
“I fear, Mr. Carroll, that it’s altogether too grand an adventure for me. As I said, I don’t fancy a Yankee prison, and I fancy an English one even less.”
Carroll stared at him. “You don’t want to go now? But you said the plan was flawless.”
“That’s the trouble. It’s too flawless. It’s going to start a fire too big for anyone to put out. What do you suppose the government will make of the likes of us, violating Her Majesty’s neutrality laws in such a fashion, collaborating with a foreign power to bring war upon her colonies—”
“Nobody takes those neutrality laws seriously, for all love. They’re lip service. T
he Confederacy’s building her raiders in Liverpool shipyards, right under the government’s nose!”
“Of course. But that’s just commerce. Things will be a bit different when it turns to war. Especially for Irishmen.”
“Irishmen?” Carroll whispered.
“Yes, Irishmen. Fenians. Rebels. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? What does a man like you care about a bunch of American plantation owners? Bloody hell, they were all English themselves just a few generations back. But if there were a war between England and America, well, that would be a fine occasion for the Irish to rise, now, wouldn’t it? The Fenians certainly think so. They’ve been organizing for years in the States, waiting for a moment just like this. Didn’t you think anyone would make the connection? Violating the Foreign Enlistment Act, that’s only a prison offence. But plotting with the Fenians, that’s an attack on the Crown. That’s high treason.”
“For the love of Mary, I don’t even know any Fenians!”
“Oh, you probably do; they have a lively chapter here in Montreal. But even if you don’t, do you think it will matter? Once our friends start burning Ohio, and the Yankees declare war, all that Her Majesty’s government is going to care about is finding heads to roll.”
It was, Erryn thought, as though Carroll had been holding a piece of wood or stone that was mutating in his hands, dissolving, running through his fingers. On the wall, the pendulum ticked, slowly and harshly.
“But …” he said finally, “but, damn it, they want to settle with the Yankees. Everybody wants to!”
“Unfortunately, Mr. Carroll, everybody doesn’t. And even those who do will prefer to hold up nice clean hands to the people and say: Listen, we didn’t start this. It was just a few God damned Fenians, and look, we’ve hanged every last one.
“This is going to wreck every man who came near it, and I don’t fancy being wrecked. Which leaves you with two choices. You tell the authorities you discovered this dangerous little plot—you needn’t name names, because if they stop it in time, they won’t much care about the names. Or else I tell them, and I will name names.”
“You’d betray Jack’s friends? You want me to betray them?”
“Oh, bollywogs. I want you to save your damn fool neck, and mine while you’re at it. Nobody’ll get hurt. The Confederates will just sigh and say, alas, another good plan down the river. God knows my heart is with them, but they do bungle.” Erryn paused for a fraction and added quietly: “Think about your family, for Christ’s sake.”
“My family.” Carroll got to his feet, far steadier than Erryn expected. He walked aimlessly for a moment and then turned. His face was bitter and grim. “And what do you suppose will become of my family, and myself, once the Southerners learn what I’ve done to them?”
“Nothing. Without help from England, the Confederacy doesn’t have a hope. They can’t afford to kill Englishmen.” He paused and added quietly, “Our government, on the other hand, can.”
He got to his feet, drawing on every inch of height, every thread of acting skill, every echo of aristocratic power that was bred into him or taught to him: pride and rank and raw class arrogance, abandoned yet still in reach, like the flawless Eton English, the marksmanship, the eye for ships, and horseflesh, and clothes. It helped, also, to be unbeautiful, with a face of hard bones and slate grey eyes, and hands like talons, pulling on the finest, richest of kid gloves.
“You have twelve hours to contact the Canadian authorities. I care not how you do it, but make sure you’re taken seriously. At the end of that time I will contact them myself. If the matter is known, I will say nothing more. If it is not, well then, you will be for it.”
“You are a fiend out of hell, Erryn Shaw.”
“No. In truth, I’ve done you a service. Oh, yes, there’s one other thing. I intend to make a record of your involvement in this matter, to be kept by a friend under lock and key. A ransom for my continuing good health, you understand.”
He met Carroll’s eye very directly. “As for this meeting between us, and what passed here, keep it to yourself. I have profitable dealings with the Confederates. If I were to lose them on your account, then you would indeed discover me to be a fiend out of hell.”
“It’s all money to you, then, is that it?” Carroll said bitterly. “All bleeding profit and the rest be damned!”
“My dear fellow, it’s bleeding profit for everyone—whatever did you think? Let me tell you what the blockade-runners drink to, when they come to town and we all gather at the Waverley to party. May I?” He reached and poured himself a mouthful of Madeira. “Here’s to the Confederacy, for buying everything we bring! Here’s to the Union, for driving up the prices! Here’s to them all, may the war go on forever!”
He raised the glass high, drained it, and placed it calmly back on the table.
“That is what you drink to? ‘May the war go on forever’?”
“Of course. It’s making us rich. Shall I see myself out?”
“You may see yourself to the devil.”
“Well then, good night. And thank you for dinner. It was very fine.”
It was almost three when Erryn rapped softly on the door of Jonathan Bryce’s house on rue Ste-Catherine. No one answered. After a long time he rapped again, a good deal harder. It was a fine night, but cold. An icy half moon hung high above the river, and the crisp northwest wind had a taste of winter in its teeth. He was glad of his bulky disguise.
A voice came muffled from behind the door. “Who is it?”
“Todd.”
A grumble followed, perhaps an obscenity or two. Bryce did not let him in immediately. He stared through the half-opened door, a pistol held firmly in his hand.
“Be damned, it is you. What the devil do you want?”
“May I come in?”
Silently, Bryce stepped back, latched the door behind them, and lit a small kerosene lamp in the hall. Its one window, Erryn noted, was carefully draped.
He took an envelope from his pocket. “Sorry to trouble you, Jon, but it’s a message for the governor. It should be sent at once.”
The policeman shoved a long rag of hair out of his eyes. He was in a rumpled nightshirt and he looked worn to crumbs.
“You want me to take this to the telegraph office in the middle of the fucking night?”
“Yes,” Erryn said. “I’m sorry.”
“What is it, anyway? One of your hare-brained raids on Johnson’s Island?”
“It’s information I believe the governor should receive immediately.”
“So take it there yourself.”
Erryn was completely spent. It took all his willpower to say nothing, merely to stare as an old Eton master might have done. Really now, Bryce, really …
“Sorry,” Bryce said. “I’ve had a bloody bastard of a day.” He took the offered envelope, knowing as Erryn did that only a handful of men in British North America could read the gibberish inside: Erryn himself, Matt Calverley, and a few staff officers at Canada’s Government House. “I hope it’s worth it.”
“Thank you,” Erryn murmured, and turned to go.
“Say, Todd …?”
“What?”
“Good luck, eh? Whatever you’ve stuck your nose into, don’t get it chopped off, all right?”
Bryce wasn’t a bad sod, he thought, leaning back in the carriage with his eyes half closed. Not the sharpest tack God ever made, but not a bad sod. Don’t get your nose chopped off, Todd.
It was all in Daniel Carroll’s hands now, what became of his nose. Would Carroll go to the Canadian authorities? Would he go to Jackson Follett? Would he sit tight and pray for a miracle? Any of these were possible. Other things, too. Things Erryn had never considered, perhaps. Things he did not want to consider.
He was lost in his thoughts when he stepped from the carriage, and so it took a moment before he noticed motion at the side of the hotel, something or someone disappearing into the trees. He saw it so briefly, he was unsure if it had been a grown ma
n, or a street urchin, or even just a dog.
Brownie in the slouch hat, I wonder? At least he’s learning to stay out of sight.
You really were too hard on him, you know.
Ah well, he thought, when the war was over, maybe they would cross paths again and he could buy the poor chap a drink. The Federal agents were merely doing their job, after all, and whatever Reb shenanigans they could foil on their own, it was all to the good. Besides, in this particular quarrel, he was entirely on their side.
He climbed wearily to his room, pulled off his clothing in slow, uneven motions, like a clockwork toy that was just about to quit. Still, he knew sleep would not come easy. Until tonight his work had always seemed to him something of a game. A dangerous game, admittedly, but nonetheless a game: Alexander MacNab singing gold in my pocket and Jamie Orton singing Bonnie Dundee and some pied piper preacher singing darky come home; an air of nastiness over all of it, but also an air of theatre.
No theatre anymore, no game. He felt as though he had been unceremoniously kicked off the stage and out into the street, with a carriage and four coming at him. The Michigan’s a warship. The lads’ll take her raiding, and there’s nothing on the Lakes that can stop her.
He stared at his ceiling and wondered just how bad it would have been. He wondered what else might be afoot, as dangerous as this, or even worse. He wondered if Carroll would break, and what would happen if he did not.
Without help from England, the Confederacy doesn’t have a hope. They can’t afford to kill Englishmen.
Well, maybe. A prominent, prosperous chap like Daniel Carroll, probably not. A hired spy, on the other hand, a colonial exile with a made-up name, whose friends in high places consisted of an aging militia colonel, a police constable, and a chambermaid, well, that might be different.
The Halifax Connection Page 15